


It's Better To Burn Out Than Fade Away

by ZaraBlythe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-04-16 18:23:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4635564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZaraBlythe/pseuds/ZaraBlythe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following themes from Season 10, Dean has succumbed to his demonic side and, drawn to the reader's soul, subdues her in her own home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Freeze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're standing here by the abyss and the world is in flames.  
> Two starcrossed lovers reaching out to the beast with many names.

You were unlocking the side door that led up a flight of stairs to the locked landing door of your apartment. Just as you were closing the door behind you and turning toward the first step up, something abruptly caught in the door, wedging it open. Horribly, it was a black leather boot, one of those ass-kicking steel-toed types that the local town hicks always wore. 

_Fuck! Fuck!_

Heart immediately going into overdrive, you froze in mid fight-or-flight reaction. Breath completely eluding you, you clumsily stumbled backward, landing painfully on your ass onto the first few carpeted steps, as a menacingly tall, broad, black shadow of a man was briefly illuminated in the open door frame, before vanishing almost entirely as he swiftly pulled the door shut behind him. You moaned in complete and utter primal fear, blind in the now pitch-black, windowless stairwell with your intruder upon you. 

And upon you, he was. As if whoever it was could see you effortlessly in the heavy darkness, he somehow managed to fluidly arrange himself on top of you with purpose, straddling your legs on the stairs and blocking off your upper body with his dense arms and wide shoulders. The inability to see the attacker’s face was with no uncertainty, petrifying. Before you had time to collect your wits and attempt a defensive strike--possibly a headbutt or a vicious bite to whatever soft flesh you could reach first in the blackness--he spoke, deeply and calmly.

“Get up.”

_You couldn’t move._ He was pinning you down, yes--but to make matters worse, you physically couldn’t bring yourself to snap out of your state of shock. You were breathing so shallowly that you were becoming lightheaded, drawing nearer with each gasp to a state of hyperventilation. God, you hoped you wouldn’t pass out.

Not here.

Not like this.

Suddenly he moved, causing you to jolt violently in fear. He swiftly hoisted you over his wide shoulder, and you barely were aware of it, in your shell-shocked mode. He was opening the door to your apartment when an adrenaline rush caused you to suddenly snap to attention. 

_NO!_

He was taking you! You needed to fight now or never, for your life. You began thrashing wildly, willfully punching at what parts of his body you could reach while upside down and with both feet still draped over his chest. Your fists slammed the small of his back with all your might. Even for a small-framed, untrained (and, if you were being honest, admittedly weak) woman, the blows still should have caused him to grunt in pain or at least elicit an annoyed response, if he were a normal human who was in the midst of being pummeled. Unflinchingly, however, he continued to carry you forth into the front foyer, not staggering even once, as he agilely turned and shut the door behind him.  
Seeming to know instinctively where the living room was, he commenced to walk directly into it and firmly peeled you off of his shoulder to toss you unceremoniously on the small couch. You writhed in the swell of unhelpfully deep and engulfing cushions in a hopeless bid to escape. The stranger chuckled, seemingly at his own private joke as he simply watched down at you struggling to gain the necessary momentum to fend him off. 

“I don’t think so, _sweetheart_ ” he said condescendingly. 

His words stiffened you, as you froze. Forgetting yourself, your thoughts were briefly distracted as you tried to focus in on his face for the first time. Your eyes were at last beginning to adjust to the dim, but in the lack of light, you could barely make out his face. Just as you were taking in the general shape, he abruptly clapped his hands together--simultaneously making you jump nervously, and at the same time, somehow making all of the lights in the living room turn on. 

_What the hell??_

This man was obviously not just a home invader. No. He was something...worse. Something _surreal_ , or, _inhuman_ , or...You grasped at straws, mind reeling in shock. 

_Is it a trick? Is it all a nightmare? Will I have woken up passed out on the steps, or in bed?_

He could make the lights turn on with his hands, or maybe it was even his mind. He seemed to have a disturbingly heightened sense of spatial awareness, uncannily like nocturnal vision. He seemed too strong, with complete non-acknowledgment of your previous attempts at attacking him while he carried you inside (as easily as if you weighed no more than a small child, you noted). 

His features came into focus distinctly, now.

For the hundredth time that night, you lost your breath in a rush that this time, nearly knocked you out for real.


	2. Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title is a Def Leppard reference to the scene in Season 5's Swan Song episode, in which Dean rolls up to the showdown with Michael and Lucifer blasting Rock of Ages. It's one of my favorite scenes in the series, hands down. Gotta love Dean's unending humor in the face of darkness!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's the shining and the light without whom I cannot see.  
> And he is  
> Insurrection, he is spite, he's the force that made me be.

You had never been the calm type around attractive guys. This was certainly no exception, especially given the circumstances. Instinctively, your face burned in embarrassment, as he stared down at you, eyes boring into you. _Fuck_ , he was without a doubt, attractive. You briefly wondered if this was some deranged model that had snapped and became a psycho killer. His hair was somewhere between dark blonde and light brown, worn short and tousled into a casually-perfect state. His face, framed by a strong, angular jawline, was lightly tanned, but with a sprinkle of freckles across his straight nose. His mouth, currently set into a teasing smile, was a perfect pout, at which you lingered on as you took it all in. His eyes were an incredible shade of mossy, almost hazel green. But just as you were noting this fact you were simultaneously realizing that they were _not green, no--for now they were suddenly obscured. As if switching on a light, his entire eye whites were obscured by a glossy, beetle black_.  


It broke the trance, and you screamed, before your voice simply cracked and faded out into silence. Jolted into action, once again you began trying to scramble for traction to get off of the couch he was still looming over, tears beginning to cascade with abandon down your cheeks. Blinded by the hot moisture falling out of your eyes, nerves completely shot, you collapsed over the back of the couch onto the floor, again scrambling on the slippery wood floor to gain momentum. You spastically grabbed the front door handle and had just turned it when you were suddenly engulfed in his arms from behind, pulling you backward into his broad chest, locked in by his iron embrace.

“I just wanted to see how far across the room you could get yourself in the shortest amount of time. It was a cute attempt, honey” he muttered into the crown of your hair, inhaling dramatically and sighing. With dread, you suddenly felt that there was a solid chance you would be sick all over yourself.

This was by far, hands down, without a doubt, the worst fear you had ever felt in your _entire_ life. It was a visceral, deep-down, bowel-shaking feeling. Your guts were on fire with the painful rushes after rushes of adrenaline coursing relentlessly through you, mimicking heart defibrillators. You had never been so shaky in your life; it was like Parkinson’s on steroids. “Shit...s-shit!” was all you could manage, voice duly shaking. He chuckled again, before spinning you around to face him.

“Let’s try that again, shall we?” He said, ensnaring you tightly against his torso. In one sudden moment, he spun you around again, but this time so that you had your back pressed firmly against the door you had just been trying to open. What had been a form of escape was now a trap for you to be pinned against. “Y/N” he murmured, never breaking his gaze affixed to your face. Slowly he began to close the already-slight distance between your two bodies. His taut midsection pressed against your chest, causing you to feel on fire with nerves and embarrassment at the sensation of your personal space being so violated. Your eyes squeezed tightly shut, hoping that soon you would drift out of consciousness to wake up and find that this was all just a nightmare.

“Open your eyes, Y/N.”

It was an order, and his voice had lost the taunt, and now betrayed a dangerous tone. Your face screwed up in fear and nervousness. This was no situation in which you had any sort of upper hand with which to bargain with. Not wanting to wait for him to somehow force your eyes open _for_ you with whatever weird pseudo-magical abilities he obviously possessed, you grudgingly allowed them to open slightly, but you bashfully refused to meet his face, choosing to focus on his grey t-shirt-covered chest above your vision line.

“Look at me.” He commanded, now with a slightly amused, but still threatening tone. Trembling, you slowly stretched your neck upward to settle your eyes on his beautiful, yet frightening visage. You lost your nerve and looked away for a fleeting second, before quickly re-configuring your gaze, out of fear of what might happen if you didn’t comply. God, he was attractive. It would have been hard enough to meet his gaze even if he hadn’t been a demon. Generally, your self-esteem was shaken to the core when you were confronted with that breed of intimidatingly confident, model-esque man, and this was by far much worse than your average day-to-day confrontation. Still pressing closely into you, he reaffirmed his dominant stance, crushing you still further into the door; into his body. His eyes, now green again thankfully, bore into your very soul. You could feel it. A knowing smile played on his lips.

“I can hear your heart just _racing_ , sweetheart. Don’t you pass out now...I’m going to need you upright and ambulatory for me tonight”, he smirked.

“How...”

You swallowed and tried again. “How do you know m-me?” You managed, though your throat was awfully dry as you whispered the words. “What the fuck are y-you?”

He wasn’t smiling anymore. A massive shiver shook your body momentarily at his icy gaze, which you forced yourself to not look away from. His eyes were black again, so fast you might have missed the change if you had blinked.

“Let's play a game, Y/N..." He sneered, flashing perfectly straight, white teeth. "You, you'll be the prey, waiting to be hunted. And me, I'll be playing Dean Winchester, the big, scary hunter. Well, he’s in here somewhere, at least” he finished with a dark twinge of a smile. "I can feel him kicking...and screaming."

Your words, somehow managing to spill out of you, were just barely audible in response. "Wha...What? You're a...hunter?"

A look of incredulity, quickly replaced by a sinister look of smug epiphany crossed his features. “Ahh, I see...I'm your first demon? Let me tell you, little girl, you’re sure as hell in for a treat”

You gasped in shock. A fucking demon?!? It was all coming together now, in a horrific wave of realization. Back when you were young, before she had passed away, your mother, having had hunter friends, had often assisted them in gathering information when they needed more intelligence on a case. You had always _known_ that many monsters were real, but you hadn’t honestly paid too much attention to the finer points. Your mother had made sure you were kept at a safe distance from the lifestyle as a whole, wanting you to have as normal of a childhood as possible. This had worked, up until about 8 years ago, when she herself had been murdered by some asshole hunters in a feud with her hunter friends. Luckily, the murderers had been convicted and sent to prison, as even skilled hunters can neglectfully leave DNA evidence during a crime. As a result, you knew little to nothing about demons, other than the fact that they existed, and that they were extremely dangerous and powerful. Little did you know just how powerful and dangerous this one in particular was.


	3. Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *** All lyrics in the chapter notes section are Ghost B.C. *** 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nostro vos pater, nostra alma mater.
> 
> And we are falling over the precipice.

You couldn’t speak.

Hell, you couldn’t _breathe_ right.

Partially, this was due to shock, and partially because of how close in proximity Dean Winchester (or whatever entity was inside of him was really called in Demon-Land) was to you. 

Winchester...why did that name ring a bell? You felt like you had heard the name before...and after a moment, you remembered why. Your mom had mentioned a John Winchester, supposedly an extraordinary hunter that she had worked with several times, who happened to have two budding hunter sons.

Dean. You remembered meeting him once or twice, but that had been years ago. His brother’s name was something that started with an S, Seth, or something. Sam--that was it. Sam and Dean Winchester. You wondered what had happened to them in the years since you had seen them as teenagers, and what on earth must have happened for a demon to come to possess Dean, who, as you began to recall, had been a pretty decent hunter himself, for being so young at the time. 

“You’re still shaking like a leaf” Dean purred down at you. “Maybe what you need is to be warmed up just a little bit, darlin’?”

He readjusted his body pinned against you, in order to lock a firm grasp on your wrists in one large palm, easily wrapping his large fingers around both at once, as if to him, they were mere twigs. Raising them above your head, he had them pinned to the door, as if you would have stood a chance with them freed, regardless.

You kneed him in the groin. _Hard._

Before you could even try to think of your next move to subdue him and escape, he aggressively slammed you against the door and forced your wrist back down, still in his one hand, as he wrapped his other palm around the base of your skull. You realized suddenly that he was laughing, a low, soul-less laugh that was laced with glee at your attempt to escape. 

“You really know _nothing_ about demons, do you sweetheart...Was that your best shot, little girl?”

And then, he was leaning down and in, so his face was level with yours, bare inches away. Closer, closer still, he drew until his nose and lips were mirrored to yours, literal centimeters apart. You were now shaking so hard, you could have been mistaken for having a seizure. Yet...yet, he was so, so goddamned _good-looking,_ and you couldn’t keep this thought out of your mind, despite the dire circumstances you were presently in. Your face was no doubt plum-colored, as you could feel heat radiating from your it. 

“What a beautiful shade of red” He grinned, mockingly.

_Son of a bitch._

“Do you always get like that around the boys, or is it just me, baby?” 

You were going to die. It would either be at his hands, or at the embarrassment of his words. You wanted to shrivel and hide under a blanket to escape this psychological form of torture. He was hitting your weak spots--he knew somehow that you found him attractive--and was now rubbing your face in it. 

“I wonder how red you would get if I...”--He closed the gap another centimeter--”Kissed that pretty pout of yours”. 

Your breath was so ragged, and your torso shaking so hard, that you were afraid you would accidentally fulfill exactly what he was implying by the mere tremors of your body jolting you toward his lips, he was so close. He grinned mischievously again, and withdrew suddenly. He was fucking taunting you, stringing you along with his little game. You scowled in protest--an effort to save face, or possibly to distract yourself from the still-raging fear you felt coursing through your veins.

“Let’s play another little game, Y/N” he cooed. Let’s see just how red I can get that beautiful face of yours tonight...”

Grabbing your hands and twisting them behind you with one of his own, he maneuvered you down the hall and into the bedroom. Again, it seemed like he instinctively knew where the room was located. This played on your nerves intensely, for it was as if he had been in your apartment already before, or had staked the place out, perhaps. Or maybe, maybe demons knew everything. You cringed internally, imagining the thought of this thing reading your thoughts at his leisure. 

“How the hell did you find me?” You blurted out, as he marched you straight for--you noticed, with a shock of fear-- the bed adjacent to the door. 

“Trust me...we all know how to find you...I’m just the lucky one who got to you first” He said, sounding highly pleased with himself.  
“W...what??” You gasped. “What do you mean, ‘we’?? There are more of you...demons...that...that know about m-me?” 

He pushed you roughly onto the plush mattress of your queen sized bed. You cried out pathetically, mind awash with jittery fear, and tried to roll over onto your back, but Dean held you firmly in place with his hand, apparently with great ease. 

You had never felt so vulnerable in your life. Here, in this moment, back and ass exposed to a demonically-possessed, lethally athletic maniac, you knew you would die. Tonight. Now.

Your tears renewed their velocity down your cheeks, blurring your vision uselessly again, as Dean Winchester spoke from somewhere behind you.

“As I said, sweetheart...I got to you first. Demons, and plenty of other things that go bump in the night. We know about you. You’re just a sweet, sweet morsel, and there’s a loooong line down the block just waiting to take a sweet, sweet bite. It’s all about you” he hissed with a devilish grin.

_What the fuck!_ You thought, trying to contemplate this statement. Your traumatized mind struggled to grasp what he was insinuating, through its muddled confusion. He had to have been lying. There was nothing evidently special about you, as far as you knew of. Sure, your mother had hunted a bit here and there back in the day, but after you had been born, as a precautionary measure she had strictly delegated herself to helping out with allied hunters’ research from a distance, from the safety of her own home. You certainly had nothing to do with this nether-world personally, as far as you could tell, and _certainly_ nothing to do with fucking _demons_. 

“You still don’t get it?” Dean smiled patronizingly at you, as you watched him helplessly over your shoulder, his tightening hand still holding your body down on the bed.

“Let me spell it out for you, sugar. You’re. All. Mine. No one’s gonna help. No one's gonna even come close to this house, long as I'm around...Not as long as I’m here to claim you. So you better get used to me fast, ‘cause you ain’t gettin’ off this ride any time soon, doll”.


	4. Awaken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi, all! This is my first ever fic. In case anyone cares to follow, I wanted to let you know that I intend to post at least one to two chapters a week. I'm having _so_ much fun creating this. Thank you so much for giving it a read! Much love, ZB 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have the power  
> You wear the crown  
> From the pinnacle  
> To the pit

Ch 4 

You awoke in the dark, on a soft surface somewhere. Your muscles began to relax, as you realized you were in your own bed, safe and sound. You had been dreaming something...weird. A sudden movement in your close proximity, a shift coming from your very bed, caused you to freeze, stealing your breath away from you in a panic. You were definitely not alone. You were definitely not _safe_. 

**Dean.**

The word entered your mind sharp as a bullet. A surge of unsavory memories from the events that took place before you passed out flooded back to you in a rush. Laying as still as possible, you wondered with unease what had transpired after you had passed out. Your brain was thick and bleary as you tried to piece together what had happened, unsuccessfully. Another soft rustle pervaded the stillness in the room. Wincing, you swiveled blindly in the dark waiting for unseen hands to snatch at you. 

“Y/N”...Dean murmured.

Judging by the proximity of his voice, he was somewhere above you, possibly behind you. You whimpered--you couldn’t help it. It was an involuntary reflex, though you were trying to be as quiet as possible. You clamped your hand over your mouth, desperate to control yourself and quit shaking so hard. You were trying to breathe; trying to steady your racing heartbeat--

“You know, I can see you in the dark, so you can drop the hide and seek act. But, just for looking so cute trying to cover your mouth there, I’ll even the playing field just a little for ya, sweetheart” he chuckled grimly. 

Moments later, lights flickered on all around the room, seemingly by themselves. You blinked as whiteness flooded your irises uncomfortably. Your heart thumped painfully in your chest, as you tried in vain to soothe your shakiness. But where was he--? Suddenly, you felt the large hands on the back of your shoulders, but they were oddly...gentle. Nevertheless, you jumped about a foot off the ground and let out a yelp of fright. 

“Shhhh....” He soothed, rubbing wide circles into your shoulder blades and at the base of your neck. What the fuck was going on? A demon, possibly the most dangerous and deadly one out there, was giving you a...a back massage? You tensed, completely stiff under his hands, completely aware that he could snap your neck in that instant if it fancied him. It was like being in the jaws of a tiger, toying with its prey. 

“You oughta relax more, you know that?” He murmured, sounding amused with himself as he continued to work your taut muscles in his massive hands. This had to be a trick of some sort; you just knew it. Why else would he be doing this, when his sole purpose seemed to be to torment you? He relentlessly went on. But despite your pride, your sensation of total danger, and your utter unease at the bizarre situation unfolding, your muscles began to betray you as they loosened for him. 

“Atta girl” he hissed into your hair from his position behind you. You moaned in fear, but it was laced with slight pleasure at having the tension in your frame slowly eased away by the unending pressure in his careful hands. 

“You’re quite the talker in your sleep you know...”

Hatred surged through you. Pure, blindingly white hot hatred slammed through your entire nervous system like a surge of lightening. A disturbingly out-of-control, murderous urge had ousted every other emotion in your capacity.

You could not move.

His hands stilled, now cupping your shoulders firmly. His skin seemed to be abnormally heated to the touch. It was just _too_ warm to be human. Suddenly, and _hypocritically_ , an unwarranted, fantastical image of him sharply emerged into focus in your mind's eye--him, lounging on a bed surrounded by the fires of Hell, warming his firm, muscle-bound body, and you noted that his shirt had conveniently, _magically_ been misplaced somewhere of little importance, and--

His hands had begun to move, and this time, they were moving _down_. Before you could cry out, or even make a move to get away, _his hands were sliding into place over the swell of your chest._ And you knew there was nothing, absolutely nothing you could do to prevent it. Immediately, you became motionless, your own skin now flushing hot. His palms tensed and released, gently rolling your breasts into his large fists. Over and over. You still had yet to take a real, steadying, solid breath, when he reached his left hand back for a moment, bringing back a glistening finger that he had evidently wet in that perfect pout. He crept it down the entrance of your tank top, slipped the finger past the restraining cup of your bra, and was now dragging it along the peak of your nipple. In this moment, your instinct was screaming at you to just _do something_ , to fight, or to run, or _anything_.

There was nothing you could do. He had you now. It was like he had said; You had better get used to it, because you would not be getting off of the ride anytime soon.

Shaking once more despite the release of Dean's moments-ago-massage, you furled your brow in complete misery at the prospect of the utter violation of your body; your mind. You were beyond tears. You were beyond allowing yourself to hope for mercy or salvation from the assault.

A sudden wet, solid, warm sensation alerted your senses to the fact that something was dragging up your neck. It was his tongue. He was fucking with you now, asserting his whims over your incapacity as you shivered and gave yourself over to him in his arms.

"Did you enjoy last night, sweetheart?" He purred into your ear. "You were just _moaning_ my name in your sleep...I guess you really took that fucking I gave you to heart. Don't get _too_ attached, now..." His lips, hot as a flame, indented the nape of your neck lightly, causing an involuntary shudder to rock your core.

He couldn't have meant it. No. He hadn't really raped you while you had been passed out...

...had he?

You flexed your pelvic muscles, in an attempt to test how they felt. Nothing. There seemed to be no soreness; no raw sensations that you had been mercilessly _had_...but still...

And just like that, all the fight was out of you. Moments before, you had been prepared to die defending your honor at the mercy of this foul creature from the depths of the earth. Now, there was nothing left in you at all. There was no reason to hope; no light at the end of the tunnel to reach toward. With one vile insinuation from _him,_ you had given up all resolve; all sensation of self-dominion. 

Again, the urge to be sick washed over you. It was all you could do to withhold the taste of bile in your throat from breaching your lips. You tried several times to take a steadying breath, to gain a foothold from with which to take control of your body--a task made impossible by the maniacal demon glued to your back, molesting the most intimate areas of your body. Finally, you managed to exhale two or three deep breaths, somewhat minimizing the sensation of passing out.

You were numb. Dean Winchester was going to rape you.

Here, in your own bed, he was going to rape you.

And this time, you would be cognizant. You would be conscious, and able to feel, to experience, and to internalize what was undoubtedly going to take place.


	5. Spin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You whisper secrets in my ear  
> Slowly dancing cheek to cheek  
> It's such a sweet thing when you open up, baby
> 
> -QOTSA

You never had stood completely unclothed in front of a man, before.

In fact, you had never imagined that you would be here, in this very situation, at all-a victim of a violent crime. A rape statistic.

But, you were.

It occurred to you that he, Dean, hadn't actually  _hurt_  you...yet. He had been rough, undoubtedly, and under no false pretense was this not a  _crime_  occuring, but still-he had yet to physically strike or harm you, which was decidedly suspicious. Or, perhaps, the implied threat was all that he needed. 

Moments before, you had been commanded to stand up, on top of the bed. Dean had needed to grasp you around the waist with both large hands to lift you up in order to spur you into action from your frozen position. You had stiffly complied, trying in vain not to sway on the precariously uneven surface of the comforter-covered mattress. He had stepped back, and allowed his eyes to take all of you in, lingering indecently on various aspects of your body.

"Take them off" he now instructed, nodding toward you. "Everything." You shuddered, jolted back into the present moment by his movement. 

You didn't move. The threat was inevitable, but yet you simply couldn't bring yourself to do it. You  _knew_  it would have come to this sooner or later, but you felt unprepared, now that he had cornered you on a pedestal for his viewing pleasure. It was too much, rationalizing this submission of your pride; your privacy. Dean advanced one step, his face hard.

"I said take them off.  **Now.** "

This was a living nightmare. You hadn't expected it to come to  _this_ , with him so so blatantly toying with your greatest sense of insecurity: your self-esteem. You had expected him to take you in a more  _animalistic_  way. Instead, he was drawing it out, calculatingly putting you on display. Fumbling to unbutton your jeans, you felt your heart quicken into a driving canter as your nerves tensed. You pushed them down and felt the discomfort of cold air seize the flesh on your bare thighs, as the fabric pooled around your ankles in a heap. You closed your eyes, not wanting to know his reaction to your nudity, and inhaled through your nose deeply, hoping to steady yourself. You peeled your shirt off next, letting it drop onto the bed next to your feet, and unconsciously crossed your arms to cover your scant-covered chest. You peeked at him warily. He was smirking, intense green eyes unflinchingly carving into your flesh.

"Keep going" Dean murmured, voice deep and throaty.

You cringed, and looked at the floor. You couldn't. You just couldn't move. It was too much. You had been naked with a few people before, but not like this. Not on a makeshift stage, lights illuminating every flaw for them to consider. But it wasn't just that. This man (well, demon-vessel, you corrected) was without a doubt  _the_  most attractive person you had ever  _spoken_  to-nevermind been intimate with-not that that fact made what you were doing any easier. In fact, it made it all the worse, as you felt distinctly humiliated at the notion of being so coldly examined by him, uncontrollably comparing yourself with the sorts of women you felt he ought to be getting down and dirty with. Women in  _his_  league. And he was forcing you to undress, in full view of his gaze, so that he could critique your body, before doing God-knows-what-else to it. You tried to remind yourself that these details were trivial, that it didn't matter what your fucking _rapist_  looked like, or how he judged your nakedness, as he took control of your body...

You were screaming _no_ within. But, you knew already that you could not deny him aloud safely. It was unspoken that this was a life or death matter of which compliance was of utmost importance. Live, or die. You knew what you had to do. The bra was somewhat easier to remove than were the panties. After all, you drily reminded yourself, he already knew what your breasts felt like...

Your clothes now fully discarded, the lights in the room seemed to brighten ever so slightly, minimizing the shadows and emphasizing your current state of exposure. You had never felt so vulnerable; so dehumanized before, with this man standing before you, arrogantly analyzing your every naked curve and secret, as if you were a product at a flesh-market, and he was looking to buy. You crossed your arms protectively, praying he wouldn't comment on the movement.

"Don't cover up, sweetheart...I want to see everything..." he breathed, locking eyes intimately with your own gaze, before lowering them again lewdly, a fresh grin spreading across his face once more.

Creakily, face aflame, you slowly willed your arms back toward your sides. You desperately wished that you could withdraw into your own body; to escape into its tight, warm shelter where deep within, your soul burned hot under the flesh-something this demon creature would never himself know, or sympathize with, or even begin to understand. Instead, the air around grew steadily colder. You momentarily wondered if he was causing it. 

In one fluid motion, he pulled his own shirt over his head and discarded it in the corner. You make a choking sound as the full realization of his masculine flawlessness and undeniable strength hit you in one fell swoop. Your face deepened to a new shade of red as you took his tall, well-muscled, bare-chested image in. This man would have taken you without a fight, regardless of his demon-strength-advantages. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you mentally conceded that you had never had really stood a chance in the first place. But, you had accepted this already, and there was nothing left to try, but hold out hope that he would somehow find you to be worthy of his mercy 

“Spin around for me” he demanded. “Slow.”

Expression mutinous, you did as you were told. “Life or death” you reminded yourself internally, as he began unbuttoning his own jeans, coolly staring on. Even turned around, you could feel his eyes on you, confirmed by his intake of air as he took in the sights. He let out a low whistle for emphasis. 

“Whooo, baby...ain’t you a dime...” he leered.

And just like that, before you had time to react, to comprehend, or even to finish your full rotation on the bed, **he was on you**. 


	6. Inside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pathetic humans in despair  
> Defaced, deflowered, now to death devout  
> A fallen angel in His lair  
> In midst of sinners kneeling down before his clout

Ch 6

There was no time to cry out. He was too fast; too _strong_. Dean’s hand clamped down over your mouth, making it difficult to breathe. Your eyes widened in shock at the uncomfortably rough sensation of his arms grappling you into submission; his cock firmly pressing into your lower back through its fabric constraints. 

“NO-!” You tried to cry out, but all that emerged was a muffled sound against his unyielding grip on your mouth. His heavy body was pinning you into the bed now, the side of your face pressed into the mattress with his arm still wrapped under your head in order to maintain his silencing hand’s grip. 

“Shhh...” he breathed, soft lips brushing against your ear. His fingers relinquished your jaw for a moment, but you gasped in pain as they instead relocated to your hair, entwining themselves into a firm hold that completely incapacitated your head from moving. 

*CRACK*

Without warning, his other hand connected with your bare ass _hard_ , causing you to scream in surprised fright. He moaned appreciatively and firmly palmed your cheek, digging his broad fingers into the flesh in the throes of pure carnal pleasure. You thrashed underneath him on the bed in desperation trying to gain some sort of upper hand, but to no avail. It was impossible to be still, though you knew there was really no hope...On a subconscious level, your body simply wouldn’t allow you to lay idly, to not react to the assault at hand. Regardless, Dean subdued you again easily, holding you down with the weight of his thickly-muscled body. 

“You wanna do this the hard way?” He taunted from his vantage point. 

You found yourself being turned over, onto your back. He had moved now to position his hips between your legs, against the culminating V of your inner thighs. You gasped in helpless shock at the feel of his bulge pressing hungrily into your naked flesh. He was incredibly stiff at this point, and he ground into you, mouth parted and eyes closed in a silent moan at the teasing friction against his cock. He grasped the tight elastic of his boxer briefs and dragged them down slowly, exposing a sizeable girth that lay heavily draped over your inner thigh. The tip was already glistening with his urgent desire, from what you could see from flat on your back. It left a wet smear on your skin as he took his impressive length into his free hand. Breathing heavily, he lowered his cock back up against your pussy and began rubbing it painstakingly slowly up and down between the folds, lubricating them with his warm pre-cum.

Gritting your teeth, you squeezed your eyes shut and tried to press backward into the bed, in a futile attempt to gain some distance between yourself and this monstrous person who was in this very moment _defiling_ you. All this, and yet to your horror, your traitorous body began to react of its own accord, as you felt its retaliation in the form of a tell-tale wet heat gathering in your entrance and leaking downward, co-mingling with Dean's own lust. " _FUCK!_ " you blurted, mortified at your body's offensive reaction. Tears were escaping your eyes now, unashamedly rolling down your reddening face as you screwed up your expression in frustrated misery.

"Well I never thought you'd ask..." He countered, a warning smile playing on his lips. 

And with no further ado, he was plunging inside. Your body convulsed as you took in his cock. You realized in disbelief that it felt thicker than it had looked; either that, or you were tighter than you had expected. Despite the forcefulness of his initial intrusion, Dean didn't move at first. To your surprise, he was instead simply laying on top of you, his weight holding you still on the disheveled mattress. He just... _stayed_ there, breathing raggedly, his face flush against your collarbone. Your heart pounded, waiting for him to do _something._

Seconds turned to minutes.

Time dragged to a full stop.

_What was he doing?_

Confused, you had expected something more... _violent_...And with that thought, you realized suddenly that his face was now hovering over yours, _too_ close for comfort, and excruciatingly, he _still_ wasn't moving inside of you--just...just being still. His (admittedly gorgeous) green eyes burned into you, unblinkingly, mere inches away. You vaguely wondered why he wasn't wearing his black Demon eyes, but the thought was stifled quickly when he suddenly placed his lips directly onto yours.

Complete shock coursed through your veins as your mind raced to rationalize this indiscretion. This was not normal. No, this couldn't be right. He was a fucking _demon_. Wasn't rape supposed to be less... _kissy_? You searched for answers, but they were quickly fading into the far reaches of your mind, as he slipped his tongue past your lips and all logical thought was suffocated by this intensely personal display of intimacy which Dean Winchester-- _Demon_ Dean Winchester was giving you. His mouth worked your own as he lay there, cock still pulsing inside of you. You could barely react, let alone think, but before you could do a damn thing about it--

He began moving.

He moaned again, low and animalistic in tone. It seemed that after his initial kiss, he was back to full-throttle-demonic mode again. His movements paralyzed you, dominating your senses completely as he aggressively drove into you _over_ and _over_ and _over_ again. Your body was growing numb. You simply lay there, not fighting it, as he grunted and shoved himself in and out, unrelenting. You tried to focus on the ceiling above him, straining to tune out the raw chafing pain setting your intimate areas completely aflame. Just as you registered his tongue tracing the sensitive peak of your breast, his powerful hands digging into your thighs, you faded out completely into a black, spiraling oblivion. You were gone. Your body was present, but your mind was gone.

\---***********---

The room was black. Your head was pounding. You had opened your eyes to find yourself alone in the bed, with all the lights extinguished, and no obvious sign of Dean. It was over. It was _finally_ done. In fact, you reasoned with yourself that perhaps it had all been a nightmare; a vivid, realistic nightmare, and that you would drift back asleep in mere moments, to wake up and go to work in a few hours--just a normal day slightly hindered by an uneasy nightmare from the night before. That was all.

But of course, it wasn't all.

Deep down, you knew that it was _not_ simply a figment of your overly-active imagination. You just _knew_. It wasn't just that your body ached. It was a visceral, to-the-core feeling that it had all been _real_ , and that he was probably still lurking somewhere in the shadows waiting to possess you; to own you again at his whim.

You didn’t make a sound, remaining motionless, but for your fingers clutching at the mattress. It hadn’t been as physically painful as you had feared it would be, but there would certainly be bruises tomorrow, no doubt. Already, a profound soreness was creeping in to settle deep in your joints as you lay there, completely mentally drained. He was nowhere to be seen, and for this, you allowed yourself to exhale a sigh of relief--but instinctively you knew that he was not gone. It was a gut feeling; you could palpably sense his presence still around you.

He had not yet let go.

And if you were being completely honest with yourself, he probably would never let you go until you were a mere shell of who you were before he had you. If you even would be so lucky to as exist at all, after he was through with you. A shudder wracked through your body at _that_ thought. You lay for what seemed like an eternity in the silent, still darkness, only opening your eyes to glance at the bedside clock intermittently, until finally, completely exhausted, you drifted back off into a fitful, dark episode of sleep.


	7. To, Readers. From, ZaraBlythe

Hello. I have had a lot of requests to continue this work. I want you to know that I never intended to cut it off indefinitely, and I hate when it happens to works I follow for no given reason, so I wanted to let you guys who have been inquiring know what's going on. First of all, I'm really proud of this work (my first one!) and I had every intention of completing it. Also, I'm really surprised people actually liked it, let alone have been asking me to keep going and praising it. The support makes me feel really flattered and happy with myself, so thank you very much! I love the community here (Dean girls unite!!!). That being said, in October 2015 I happened to break up with a young man I had been dating for 3 years. He was emotionally abusing me in many ways, manipulating me into staying with him until my family forced my hand. The guilt tripping, the isolation, the sexual and emotional neglect, and more have had a deep affect on me. Unfortunately due to the abuse-related thematic content of this work, I feel like I can't even begin to sit back down with this piece and write more--at least for the time being. Obviously it's a major plot device in this subgenre with Demon Dean, and if I'm being honest, ever since my horrific breakup and subsequent extreme depression, for now I've completely lost all enjoyment I used to derive from reading and writing it. It's almost akin to PTSD. I don't know, maybe I can write more if I can use it as a therapeutic tool to help myself heal...turn the reader into an ass-kicker maybe ;)? For now, I'm taking a hiatus and I wanted to give you guys who have all boosted my self-esteem and sense of self-worth/happiness through your praise of this work the courtesy of knowing the reason for my absence. I just need to heal from the lying in bed all day, the constant crying, the blank feelings, the suicidal thoughts, etc. Thank you for understanding. -ZaraBlythe


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